There is always a very special feel about Blenheim. It is getting towards the end of the Eventing season and the year is just beginning to turn. The parkland is full of stunning trees: ancient oaks with roots that flow over the sward like lava while their corrugated trunks hold up battered and twisted limbs that nonetheless carry a crown of healthy leaves; the magnificent clump of mature copper beech beside a second of silvery conifer that offer contrasting shades and shadows as they billow softly above the lake. The woodlands are hinting some subtle signs of autumn colour. The track is green and mowed, rolling over the slopes and undulations. The Palace itself, built of a warm yellow stone, sits with a sort of comfortable grandeur and quietly dominates the whole event. In the early autumn morning there is first a quiet stir of activity, at horse pace, at a relaxed and friendly speed, but the tempo quickly picks up once the gates open and spectators stream in, a river of cars flooding over the parkland. The amazing army of volunteers that allow the whole event to happen take on a certain air of professional concentration. Then, for the rest of the day, there is a competitive buzz. The 3* course is set, the horses prepared, the shops are open, the crowd’s in position, last radio checks done, the sound system is ready, the commentators up in Control are plugged into the network, Ground Jury happy. The course goes “green”. A horse runs every three minutes until the day is done. A few incidents, a tea run missed, a loose dog, a wasps nest in a public spot, lost property handled, until by the end of the day a happy, shopped-out mob heads off home after an excellent day out. The park falls into a quieter mood and the volunteer army move onto preparation for the next day.